Finding Out About Mr M

by Matt Tims

  She finally reached his feet which were covered in black socks, and obediently gazed down at the floor. What was coming next? More instructions? Or maybe she would be dragged over to his bed for the pounding of her life? But before more lavish fantasies could rifle through her brunette head, the sound of steel snapping around metal filled her ears. Her eyes caught up a moment later as she noticed her leash now locked around the loop on her collar.

  She looked up and asked, “Where are we going?”

  His stern glare returned. It was the same expression that had mutely called her a bad girl mere moments ago. A slight pain burst through her body as a result of his reaction. She never wanted to experience a moment resembling this again.

  “Two rules,” Ryan began. “One, you speak when spoken to. Understood?”

  She quickly nodded.

  “Two, you will address me as ‘Daddy’ from now on. Are we clear?” he asked, his words firm and demanding.

  Her arms shook. Her breaths turned short and rapid. It was finally happening! “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl,” he praised with a comforting smile. “The downstairs looks nice. You did a very good job.”

  She was glowing.

  “I have a little treat for you,” he informed her as he choked up on the leash, her head lightly jolting forward due to his strength.

  She willingly allowed herself to be moved out of the room as she crawled behind the man who led her with a leather leash. They took a right in the upstairs hallway, and made their way in the direction of his office. If a stranger peeked out of the bathroom and was asked for their thoughts on the situation, a few choice words would probably come to mind: demeaning, humiliating, or even embarrassing. But Jen wouldn’t use any of those descriptions. Words like comforting, soothing, and reassuring would most likely be those of her choosing.

  She was a grown woman with a husband and a daughter. She worked full-time, ran a household by herself, and dealt with all the problems Tom refused to tackle himself. When was the last time she’d left the house without her cell phone? In fact, she would probably have a panic attack if she did.

  A desire to recreate her childhood consumed her—to go back to the days when she would run outside after school, and not return home until the sun went down. She didn’t possess a phone, ID, or even money when she was a kid, yet she was fearless going out into the real world empty-handed. Why was the ten-year-old version of her more comfortable in that type of situation than the forty-four-year-old version? She owned a hunger for a lack of stress and responsibility, and that was the exact thing she was experiencing at this very moment.

  She was innocent and helpless. She felt youthful and naive. Her emotions resembled those of a child. But a child struggles for that sense of safety unless they’re aware that someone’s looking out for them, and she had a protector, alright. She had a master. She had a daddy.

  Every foot crawled forward sent a chill down her spine. Someone may as well have ripped off her outfit and opened a window to allow the frigid polar air to tear through her skin. Each inch closer to his office made her feel alive. It exposed just how powerless and vulnerable she really was. She was in the mood to be bad—very, very, very bad. And punishment was only one remedy for a girl as devious as herself.

  Daddy turned the handle after they arrived at the door. Everything appeared similar to when she’d cleaned his office earlier. A desk sat in the far back in front of the window, a bookshelf with an array of novels and paperbacks occupied the spot to her left, and stacks of boxes containing paperwork and files lined the wall on the right. One thing was different though. One thing was very out of place. Well, out of place for most people. Not for her. For her, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

  A stainless steel dog bowl sat in the middle of the floor. Daddy pulled on the leash and led her to her treat. It was her reward for doing such a great job cleaning the downstairs. In reality, it was a bowl full of water; but deep down, it was so much more than that.

  It was the beginning stages of showing her submission and accepting Daddy’s dominance. She wanted to be treated like a pet. Masters love and care for their animals, but they don’t respect them on the same level as a spouse or a partner, and that’s exactly what she needed from him. She wanted to impress him, but she desired to be seen as less than an equal. Masters don’t ask their animals for their thoughts and opinions, and that was the very thing she yearned to receive from their relationship. There was finally a man in her life who’d allow her shut off her brain and act on her most primal of instincts. She could please him without having to think; and as she crept closer to that dog bowl, her mouth began to salivate. She was frantic to show her new master just how much she craved him.

  “Go ahead,” Ryan gave the green light. “You’ve earned it.”

  She began lapping at the water with her tongue. The sense of humility was indescribable. No part of her was thirsty, but she continued to drink anyway. Something about this position was natural to her. A shock of electricity burst through her blood from the sound of the metal loop on her collar hitting the steel bowl. Nothing about this even slightly resembled her time with Bill. Her old college boyfriend had dominated her with physicality—not psychology—and knowing that she was outmatched by a superior man made her tingle.

  She drank her fill before innocently looking over to her left where he was waiting.

  A firm hand dropped onto her head, softly tousling her wavy brown hair. “You can finish cleaning the upstairs now,” he told her before unhooking the leash. And just like that, he walked out into the hallway and vanished.

  Her hand immediately found her clit as she feverishly rubbed herself through her soft cotton panties. She could cum within seconds if she truly wanted to, but she was going to wait. Nothing would happen until Daddy told her it was okay; but more importantly, he would watch her cum. The days of enjoying her orgasms all alone were over.

  Chapter 13 – How Rough is Too Rough?

  She saved Ryan’s bedroom for last, the cloth in her hand removing any remnants of dust from his nightstand. Her mind was woozy as she attempted to control her anticipation. Honestly, she would come over every day just to be led around on a dog leash. There was little doubt what her biggest fetish was now. It fed her insatiable desire to be dominated. But what now? She was doing her best to clean as fast as she possibly could. The sooner she was done, the sooner they would pick up right where they’d left off—at least that’s what she was hoping.

  Her hand abruptly halted as she froze and listened.

  The unmistakable sound of heavy tread ascending the stairs captured her attention. Slowly and powerfully, those loud footsteps clomped closer to the bedroom. She turned back to the nightstand in a hurry to resume her cleaning.

  Softer, more attentive steps sounded in the hallway, gradually entering the room. She took a peek back at the door out of the corner of her eye, only to come up empty. There wasn’t anyone there.

  She suddenly shouted out in a surprised yelp, “Oh!”

  A rough, calloused hand had firmly grasped the back of her neck. Warm breath tickled her eardrum as a smile formed on her face. She could feel him. Daddy’s touch was impossible to imitate. There was only one Ryan, and he was positioned directly behind her.

  “I’m not going to go easy on you,” that deep, dominant voice whispered. “If at any moment this is too much, you say the word ‘Apple,’ and we’ll stop. But if I don’t hear that word, then Daddy’s little girl is gonna get it.”

  Her body shook while her legs tingled. “Apple” may as well have been erased from her vocabulary. A lot of words would be said over the next however many minutes, but she could guarantee that “apple” wouldn’t be one of them.

  “Tell me you understand,” he firmly whispered again as the strong grip on her neck tightened.

  “I understand, Daddy,” she hurried to say.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Now, go find your toys.”

  His hold on the back of her ne
ck loosened, and a forceful push on her upper back sent her moving in the direction of his closet. Her pace didn’t abate as she excitedly opened the door and dug into the back for the box of sex toys, still dressed in her black high heels and maid outfit. Or better yet, “her toys.” Were they hers now? Were the days of them being used on cute college girls over? She wanted them all for herself. She wasn’t in the mood to share.

  Her hands clasped around the wooden box and she carried it over to Daddy, gently placing it at his feet.

  He pointed at the bed.

  She did her best to hide her excitement as she took a seat on the edge of his mattress, processing the touch of the smooth red silk sheets against her skin. The man of her dreams stood just five feet in front of her. Tall, dark, and handsome. Dominant, authoritative, and athletic. He was everything her husband wasn’t. He was everything the rest of the men in the world weren’t. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of; and at this moment, she was all his.

  He bent at the knee and opened the box. The sounds of metal, steel, and plastic rattled and clanged against each other, creating a paralyzing harmony. She was the star of this story. Living vicariously through the protagonist in a steamy romance novel was for women who don’t live next to Mr. M. The possibilities were endless. The memories would be unforgettable. She’d never been so ready to give herself to anyone.

  His hand re-emerged with a black blindfold. Every step he moved in her direction felt like it was in slow motion. Every inch closer was a painful reminder of the dozens more which needed to be traveled. Finally, he came to a stop as the cotton from his dress pants grazed against the razor-thin nylon covering her legs. Her eyes traveled the length of his clothed body until they arrived at his chiseled face, patiently waiting for her life to change.

  Suddenly, her world turned black. She was surrounded by darkness as the feeling of the blindfold being tightly tied at the back of her head caused her body to shiver. A finger gradually traveled down her smooth cheek, before tenderly pressing against her soft lips.

  She opened her mouth.

  The firmness of his nail was soon replaced by the sleekness of his finger. Deeper and deeper it traveled until it hit her gag reflex and caused her to flinch, but the gentleness was quick to return. The tip of his finger explored the lining of her tongue. She was so innocent—eager and excited to accept every part of Master inside all of her openings. She was completely willing to allow Daddy to push her boundaries; because after all, he knew best. His finger slid along her tongue before tracing her lips, and then that comforting touch vanished.

  Slap!

  There wasn’t any time to prepare herself for the roughness of his open hand firmly making contact with the side of her cheek. A stinging sensation overtook her pain receptors. She’d never been hit before. It wasn’t hard, but it was rough—just rough enough to send a message. His hand contained the perfect amount of aggression to make sure that she was really up for this.

  “You can speak,” Ryan announced.

  He could read her mind. One word was begging to escape from her lips, but she remembered rule number one: speak when spoken to. Somehow, Daddy knew exactly what she wanted.

  A smile formed across her moist lips. The female protagonist in the latest novel she was reading didn’t have anything on her. Ana, a shy and timid twenty-one-year-old virgin, would be appalled by what was about to come out of her month. She wasn’t some princess searching for her prince. She was an average suburban mom—seeking a man worthy of being submissive for—and Ryan could bring out every filthy fantasy in her dirty mind.

  “Harder,” she giggled.

  A harsh crack propelled her body to the left, her hands pressing against the mattress below to keep herself from falling back onto the sheets. It was a painful stinging that reminded her she was alive. That she had feelings. That she liked a little pain to go along with her pleasure.

  But before she could process more of her emotions, her body was roughly flipped and bent over the edge of the bed. Her heels locked on the hardwood floor below as her legs towered over the side of the mattress. Hands began to explore her thighs, slipping under the skirt of her costume to find a mix of skin and cotton panties underneath. She was being silently worshiped. Her body was being mutely admired. Rough, masculine skin pressed against the surface of her soft, feminine body; and the results were evident in her soaking wet panties.

  The feeling of safeness and protection were replaced by coldness and worry as those warm hands left her body, the sound of footsteps taking their place. His aura vanished along with his physical presence. The desperation to be near him was overwhelming. The bedroom now resembled that of an unexplored tropical island, and she was its sole inhabitant.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  He was coming back.

  A rumbling resonated from the box of toys behind her before a large bulge pressed against her backside. Those powerful hands had returned on her body. The top of her maid outfit was yanked down, revealing her bare breasts to the warm bedroom air as her costume continued to descend. Her nipples were sharp and erect. Goosebumps covered her pale skin. This was everything she’d dreamed of, and they’d yet to begin.

  The black polyester material trailed down her legs before a guiding hand on her calves told her to step up. He pulled her outfit off and tossed it to the side, thoroughly exposing her frame to his eyes. A pair of black high heels, thin white nylon stockings, and black cotton panties were all that covered her from the world; but as vulnerable as she was, the comforting sensation of those strong hands on her skin resembled being wrapped in a fluffy blanket. His hands were always on her. Her legs, thighs, and perky butt received the majority of the attention, but her back and shoulders were being well taken care of as well. She felt like a goddess—like a virgin moments before her purity was lost. This soft, gentle side of Daddy wouldn’t last long. She was sure of it.

  His hands ran the length of her toned back, eventually moving south to settle on her panties. She expected them to be lowered. Maybe he would continue to be gentle with her? Or perhaps he would roughly yank them down to reaffirm his authority? She wasn’t sure how he would lower them, but he there was little doubt that he would.

  Jen was wrong again.

  His fingers sank into the cotton—his hands roughly separating to the sides—taking the material with him. Her underwear was ripped in half and disappeared from her skin. The time for tenderness was over. She was about to find out if she was truly up for this.

  The rattle of his belt buckle filled her head. She was submissively bent over his king size bed with her butt arched high in the air, eagerly awaiting to be taught a lesson. A lesson about sex. A lesson about lust, passion, and devotion. A lesson about pleasure, and a lesson about pain.

  His belt hit the silk sheets beside her, causing a light thud to echo off the walls. She anxiously awaited the sound she craved more than life itself. It was a noise which meant more to her than her own safety or well-being. It was a clamoring that her personal joy and happiness couldn’t compete with.

  Zip.

  It was the sound of his zipper descending.

  The tension was excruciating as she waited for that feeling. Suddenly, it was there—the head of his penis rubbing against her glistening vaginal lips. It was enough to make her forget all her worries in the world. What was for dinner, the cable bill she may have forgotten to pay, or what would happen with Tom: none of it existed any longer. The only thing that mattered was what Daddy had planned for her.

  The electricity of their most intimate of areas finally touching faded as she heard more footsteps in the darkness. While she’d prefer to be able to see her surroundings, the thrill of being this helpless was even more rewarding when the prize would lastly be unveiled. It was the ultimate game.

  Her right arm was abruptly snapped behind her back, cold steel clamping around her tender skin. Her left arm soon followed and her wrists were tightly locked together. A pair of black handcuffs had raised the stakes to an en
tirely different level. She was no longer just blindfolded over her master’s bed. She was now blindfolded and helplessly handcuffed. Even the previously simple task of touching the firm leather of her collar was now rendered impossible thanks to Daddy’s latest deed. The right side of her face continued to press into his silk sheets as she patiently waited.

  “I know what you want, Princess.”

  Princess? Princess!? She had a pet name! She’d begged Tom for a pet name for years. Hell, she’d begged Bill and the boyfriends before him as well, but none of them liked the idea of calling her anything other than Jen. But now she was “Princess.” And what could be more fitting? What else would daddy’s girl prefer? That’s what she really wanted to be at heart. She was finally a princess.

  This time, there wasn’t any exploration of her body with his hands, there was no teasing of her damp pussy lips, and the room lacked the sounds of kinky dirty talk. There was merely an overwhelming fullness.

  His long, thick girth sank inside of her, and the sensation of wholeness caused her mind to blank. Her eyes—hidden deep behind the silk of her blindfold—instantly rolled back into her head. The ten inch dildo her friend had bought her as a gag gift for her birthday may as well have been pushing inside her. The very dildo she’d messed around with—curious to see how it’d feel on a boring Thursday night in May—was now alive and moving behind her. Every time she thought she’d taken all of him, another forceful inch burrowed deeper. Her previously tight pussy was being stretched and worked in ways it never had. Parts of her were touched for the first time. All this, and he’d yet to take a stroke. He was merely working his way in.

  His tender movements soon morphed into long, deep pumps as his pace began to increase. A wetness against the side of her cheek caused her to realize that she was drooling. She felt dumb. She felt stupid. She’d uncontrollably salivated and wasn’t able to shut her mouth despite her best efforts.